


In the Lavender Sea

by midnightsalve



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Implied Illya/Napoleon, Smut, bathtime, gaby is mad and illya is confused, until they starting fucking that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsalve/pseuds/midnightsalve
Summary: Illya silently marveled at the realization that Gaby was the one naked in the bath yet he, fully clothed, was the one who felt the most exposed.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	In the Lavender Sea

**Author's Note:**

> hello pixies-  
> this is my first post on AO3 and my first time writing smut so please be gentle w my lil anxious heart.  
> Russian is not my native tongue so apologies for any mistakes in translation.  
> constructive feedback is welcomed!

For all his height and bulk, Illya was silent as he slipped into Gaby’s hotel room, deftly stepping over a sharp pile of broken glass from where a crystal tumbler had shattered- whether by design or an accidental drunken slip, he wasn’t sure. He cataloged this mess to clean up later. It wouldn’t do to have his little Chop Shop girl’s tender foot sliced by a stray piece.

Moving quietly through the apartment, past the chaise lounge, down a dip of steps to the bedroom, Illya’s quick mind (trained into his psyche with electrical shocks and torturous drills credit the KGB but quick, nonetheless) cataloged and filed the state of the room in little snapshots.

_Sheets tangled, pillows tossed without care, one just here, on the ground, another slouching off the bed- she had a nightmare, perhaps, or a_ lyubovnik _come calling._

Illya felt his fingers twitch with the thought of another man in this space, pressing kisses to Gaby’s shoulder, to the freckle at the nape of her neck that he cataloged constantly despite himself.

Nightmares, he decided, and filed it away.

This is what Illya did best- calculations, observations, a click of the shutter in his mind exposing someone’s weakness. It was always easier to focus on other’s instabilities than his own.

As he rounded the corner to the slightly-ajar double doors of the attached bathroom Illya froze, calloused hand hovering near the wood. The air smelled heady and sweet, like lavender and something sharper, reminding him vaguely of the _pryaniki_ his baba used to make.

The shutters in his mind snapped and clicked, images of the distressed room recalled in perfect contrast- a developing thought formed, one that caused his freeze.

Gaby was angry.

He thought she might be. She had not two hours before left the company of himself and the American after one too many jokes at her expense, snapping up her clutch from the hotel restaurant’s table, ignoring Solo’s halfhearted mollifications in favor of storming out. The two men had sat in the wake of her anger for a few moments, and while Napoleon shrugged off the incident after his third glass of whiskey, Illya had sipped at his sparkling water and brooded.

And now Illya was stopped outside of Gaby’s bathroom, listening to the gentle splashing of her in the tub; unsure of what line he was about to cross, unsure if the line had already been crossed so many times on the field when they held each other’s bruised bodies over and over again and maybe it was all in his head, this arms-length distance that he kept her at.

So he stepped into the white-tiled room, allowing his footsteps to make noise as a courtesy, and he didn’t know if he was grateful or disappointed that Gaby had pulled the silk shower curtain partway around the tub so all he could see was her feet poking over the side.

“ _Ubiraysya_ ,” Gaby said, the outline of her head resting against the tub hazy through the curtain, and though it was an order with an edge Illya felt something pop and lift inside of him as she spoke his mother tongue.

Gaby had pulled a whole Russian language lesson out of Illya on one rare night she got him drunk, and he had spilled out every word caught inside of him- _malishka_ , _solnishko_ , and, after they finished two bottles of wine and his head was in her lap, the phrase _tot, kogo ya lyublyu_ passed his lips. After that night there was shift, they could both feel it, and so he pushed against her again, holding her out, making sure she learned only curses and basic phrases.

“As you wish,” Illya replied coolly, making no move to leave, because as much as he pushed, he knew Gaby would pull. And she did, with an annoyed tsk, telling him “ _sadit'sya_ ”. Illya complied, perching on the edge of the toilet lid, feeling much too large for this space already so filled with animosity and bath salts.

“You are angry,” he stated, pulling at the knees of his slacks to smooth the wrinkles.

“Very good, Illya,” the girl purred, patronizing, the whites of her clean-cut toenails wiggling slightly. “Must be hard to be in that so-smart KGB brain of yours.”

Knowing that this wasn’t even close to a low blow for the sharp-tongued German, Illya took the soft hit without a retort, instead adopting as soft a tone as he could manage to say, “I’m sorry we upset you, at dinner. Solo lets the booze go to his head. I wish-”

Illya flinched when Gaby suddenly wrenched the bath curtain aside, metal loops screeching on the overhanging pole. She glowered at the hulking man on her toilet and snapped “Are you really stupid enough to think I’m angry about a joke at dinner?”

He didn’t know how to respond to this, dropping his lash-heavy gaze at the pleats in his pants. “I thought maybe-”

Gaby interrupted with a loud sigh, sliding back into the clouded bath until the waterline crept up to her chin, a floating head in a lavender-steeped sea, a bit of water spilling onto the tiles to adjust for her submerged body.

Illya allowed himself a glance at the form in the tub, cataloging and filing away the minutiae- _her dark hair caught up in a clawed clip, the freckle at her nape on display, bangs wet from bathwater or sweat, maybe, sticky against her forehead, delicate set of ones pinched between her brows, eyes closed, makeup diffusing in the heat_.

He also allowed himself a brief glance at the opaque waters, but just seeing the shadowed suggestion of her bare knee was enough to make his throat close up with self-consciousness or, perhaps, lust, and he silently marveled at the realization that Gaby was the one naked yet he was the one who felt the most exposed.

Illya was snapped out of his trance when Gaby lifted a dripping hand from her water, pointed at a bare spot on the tiles, saying “ _sadit'sya_ ” again, but this time with heat, and before Illya could wonder about the arms-length line again he sank to his knees in front of the tub. 

A small pool of water soaked into the fabric of his slacks where Gaby had spilled it earlier; this time she moved more sleekly, feet disappearing to push her upper body up a bit, the swell of her breasts just breaching the surface of the water.

Her milky knees rose into view, knocking against each other, then parting slightly as she lifted a hand towards Illya.

He tried to remember how to breathe, how to fit Gaby into his calculated filing system, but gave up the second their hands met. She pulled him underwater, splaying her palm atop the back of his hand as he trailed along her warm thigh.

_Nichego strashno_ , Illya thought to himself. This was no problem. He’d had his share of deep-water missions. He could hold his breath for four- and one-half minutes. He was an excellent swimmer. He was pretty sure he knew how to swim. Did he?

Illya’s mind became unraveled, his trick of repeating short information as a distraction fell apart the second he slipped a finger between Gaby’s thighs.

She let out a gasp, open-mouthed, and tightened her hold around Illya’s wrist. He was sure he could swim. Doggy-paddle, maybe. He added another finger, and when Gaby’s head fell back in a string of German curses he was pretty sure he could drown in a two-inch puddle.

“ _So wie das_ ,” Gaby gasped again when Illya flexed his fingers- she setting the rhythm with her grip on his wrist, he stroking the warmth of her with a practiced flair. They’d all had to sleep with marks before, so this wasn’t new to either agent, and Illya excused this line-crossing as a matter of simple target practice.

Gaby’s hips bucked when Illya stroked his thumb over the swollen bud of her nerves, water sloshing over the sides. His pants were soaking, clinging to the curve of his erection. He cataloged this, shifted subtly, but Gaby snapped at him again.

“Don’t do that.”

Illya stilled his hand, worried, for a moment, that he had hurt her, but Gaby sank him deeper into herself, tone softer- “don’t pull away.”

The last wavering grasp he had on the line dissipated, because before this it was all a cool push and pull, an exchange without acknowledgement- but now Gaby was staring straight at him, unabashed, blown-out pupils encroaching into the cocoa brown of her eyes.

Gaby pushed herself from his fingers and they both made a quiet noise at the loss of contact. In one fluid movement she stood in the tub, water streaming down the slopes of her body in rivulets, and pulled Illya up to meet his lips with hers. He drank in her plush lips, pulled and pushed his hands over her wet skin, drinking in the feel of her through his palms. When he dipped his head to suck her small breast into his mouth she made a strangled noise that made Illya _hmm_ in satisfaction, vibrating skin to skin.

Apparently tired of this, Gaby pulled his head from her breast with a tug of his hair, stepping neatly from the bath without breaking her hold. She used her other hand to yank his shirt from its tucked place, releasing Illya’s hair to let him pull the shirt from his body.

He stood bare-chested in front of Gaby, arms at his side, every muscle in his body coiled and lit up, not sure where to move next, as if the line was still an invisible barrier between the things he wanted to do and the things he could not. Gaby murmured something against the skin of his chest, teeth skating against his collarbone, and as she trailed kisses down, down, Illya’s hands curled into fists. She pulled his belt off in one clean motion, his pants and boxers in another, setting free his now-painful erection.

Illya reflexively steadied himself with his hand on Gaby’s shoulder as she helped him step from his bottoms, and then she was on tippy-toes again to kiss him, to bite at his neck, moving him as she pleased with the flex of her small hand on his expansive waist, molding Illya to her will, his legs hitting the back of the tub. He was just allowing himself to think how very much he liked being at the mercy of someone smaller than him when abruptly, Gaby gave him a shove, and Illya went pitching backwards ass-first into the water.

He flung out his hands with a “ _blyad_!”, bringing the bath curtain down with him in his flailing, scattering the metal hoops with a clatter, his head hitting the wall so hard he saw stars.

Filed- _plaster cracked. Pay at front desk tomorrow._

“What the fuck, Gaby,” he growled, not too surprised to not be angry, but Gaby merely laughed, the devil, and followed him in, slotting her hips with his, grinding down and pulling more curses from Illya.

“I like you like this, _Illyusha_ ,” she said, planting her hands against his chest, canting her head back. The pet name sent a wave of pleasure straight to Illya’s core, and he pushed into where his thighs hung over the edge of the tub, grappling for friction as Gaby continued- “I like when you don’t hide yourself.”

Before he could ask what she meant by that Gaby rolled her hips again and the movement of them both sent a waterfall onto the floor. Illya wanted to beg, but he was afraid of saying something he shouldn’t, so instead he grit his teeth and clenched his grasp around the porcelain sides of the tub.

“What do you want, _liebling_?” Gaby asked, reaching into the tepid waters for Illya’s member, a pull and a push, and he wasn’t quite undone, not yet, even as she punctuated the motion with a sharp bite at his neck.

Filed- _need to wear shirt with collar tomorrow_. _Malen'kiy d'yavol_.

“You want to know why I was angry, yes?” Said little devil twisted her hand; Illya felt his hips pitch up of their own accord. “Then tell me what you want, _Illyusha_.”

“You.” He felt ashamed that his voice was so ragged, fraying apart at the gravelly edges, like it was a sort of weakness to be this close to the edge in only a handful of minutes. The gentleman in Illya wanted to pull Gaby from himself and bury his face between her thighs until she came undone. The other part of Illya- be it man or animal or something even more primal- wanted Gaby to tie him up with the silk curtain and ride him until he burst.

Gaby kept up the long, steady strokes, hovering over Illya’s prone form, suckling at his mouth, tonguing wet tracks and flashes of sharp teeth down his neck. She pulled back then, lining Illya at her entrance, and asked again, “ _Chego ty khochesh_?”

And then when their hips sunk and rose to meet beneath the tepid water and Gaby fisted her hands in his hair to steady herself Illya remembered, he remembered why everything had to be carefully cataloged and filed with Gaby, _especially_ Gaby- because now that the line was crossed he was in very dangerous territory, the type that made his toes curl and jaw clench with the effort of staying mute.

The waters rippled as Gaby rode Illya with a languid rocking, her throaty gasps and moans echoing off the tiles. Illya’s hands found their way to her hips as he told himself this was very, very not good, he was close to drowning, he should stop this-

Stars still in his eyes from where his head hit the wall earlier he reached out unseeing to the back of Gaby’s head, sinking his grip into her hair but forgetting her clawed clip- the plastic snapped into pieces under his large hand and Illya hissed as one of them cut into his palm but he used this pain to ground himself, pulling tighter against Gaby’s scalp, ignoring the long _ohhhh_ that fell from her lips.

To cross the line was death. She had to know what she was asking of him.

And he did well like this, for a few more moments, the lapping of water keeping time with the rutting, hand burning like a lifeline, until Gaby dipped forward and bit at Illya’s ear and said, “You can say whatever name you like, _Illyusha_.”

And it seemed so simple when she said it, a gift, an olive branch, and Illya didn’t have time to file this away before he let his mouth fall open, spilling words, babbling, really, with everything unsaid- “ _Blyad_ , Gaby, fuck, _der'mo_ , _liybimaya,_ I need…”

Gaby moaned encouragements, her breathing becoming hitched as Illya took over the rocking motion, his hands pulling at her bruised hips. She slipped her hand between her legs, lighting the nerves there on fire, and Illya’s eyes were shut as she watched him come with a stuttered shout- 

“ _Napoleon_!”

Gaby followed him quickly over the edge, head tilted back in ecstasy, sparks coiling and popping and exploding inside of her.

She didn’t give him time to be embarrassed. She leaned down again to kiss his swollen mouth, run her hands along the flush in his cheeks, brush some flakes of plaster from his hair with half a smile.

“Was that so hard, Illya?” Gaby asked. She lifted herself gingerly from the tub, Illya sliding from her body, both of them making that quiet noise again, each one missing the other as the contact slipped away.

Illya stayed where he was in the tub, sulking, still feeling like she’d tricked him somehow, and watched as Gaby wound a towel around herself, retreating across the soggy floor.

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” she said lightly, pausing in the doorway, picking stray chunks of the decimated clip out of her hair. “MI6 wants me out in London for training as soon as possible. It’ll just be you and Solo for two weeks. I suggest you work everything out while I’m gone.”

Illya watched her figure disappear behind the doors, listened as she opened her armoire and dresser drawers, and filed two things for later.

_Talk to Solo. Bring alcohol._


End file.
